The Last Place To Go
by The Liverpudlian
Summary: Stan resorts to something, even he doesn't think is right. Stan/Kyle, implied Stan/Wendy, Stan's POV, mostly Stan's thoughts; In Memoriam Robert Enke


Hi there. I have written this fic in response to something that happened on Tuesday, November 10, 2009. I've got the idea and wrote it down. In one sleepless night lol. Please enjoy.

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**The Last Place To Go**

The engine stops.

I'm here.

I pull the car key out of the key hole and open the door. The midnight air is stinging in my face. I let my hand run through my black hair. Raven-black. Raven. My old goth name from... 8, 9, 10 years ago? I don't know.

It's cold. Only Suitable. I chuckle slightly... I don't seem to take this seriously. Oh well, if I would, I probably wouldn't even do this. I know I shouldn't, but I'm going to go through with this now. There wouldn't be anyone to stop me anyways.

I shake the hesitating thoughts off and begin my walk.

Is everything placed? Letter. Belongings. Car? I look back at it. Yes, everything is where it belongs.

I continue my walk and push the successfully completed checklist in the back of my mind. My young mind. My too young mind to do this, to even consider this. Hesitating thoughts again, but I'm not stopping now.

I look around, spotting a few houses with turned on light. I think of the people inside. What are they doing? Have I ever seen them? Do I probably even know them? Questions over questions, but no answers. None at all. I'm aware of the fact that my actions will make other people ask more questions. More and more. And this doesn't make me feel worse, no. It makes me feel important, like I _am_ something, like I matter. Not that I don't matter in normal life, but... but I feel so rejected by some. And this – sadly – is enough to make me do this. It could be just my paranoia. But even if it's real, I shouldn't do this.

I'm almost at my destination now, my final destination. I can see it already and I suddenly stop. I need to think again and let the events sink in.

Have I even thought of the consequences for my family, friends... for me? Are there even severe ones for me, that aren't positive? And where is the line between positive and negative in this one?

Questions again. And then I start to walk again. And I run. Faster and Faster. Only 200 yards, 150, 100, 50, 10... the end zone is in sight! 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, 0! And I stop again, panting now of the long run with an obviously turned off brain. Just the fact, that I'm not carrying a ball and that football fields usually aren't 200 yards long remind that this isn't a game. But one thing's the same. This is no position to stop. Football players don't run to the referee and beg them to disallow their own touchdown, especially not after an heroic run. Then again here there are no referees, no 6 points for the team, there isn't even a team, no crowd, no stadium, no field. Just me. Me standing on the asphalt of a deserted South Park street in front of some rail tracks.

And in this second a train passes by and envelopes me in its loud noise. I wonder how people can live near rail tracks. Trains even pass by at _this_ hour. I'm certain that these trains ensured some sleepless nights in the past and will in the future. Yes, definitely. They make problems worse and ruin one or two romantic moments.

But back to me now. The next train is mine. My personal omega. I slowly begin to walk again, towards the tracks.

I wonder if my train is going to make problems worse.  
I wonder if my train is going to ruin one or two romantic moments.  
I wonder if my train is going to bring misery to some people.  
I wonder if my train is going to make some people happy.

I'm there.

My final destination. Or better the train station from which I will get to my final destination.

I sigh and look down. I see I'm indeed standing in the deadly zone, where I want to be, where I belong.

I begin to walk. This time along the tracks. A pointless walk into nothing. No one's gonna stop me. I'm on my way home.

…

How will Wendy react?

I hope she doesn't blame herself... Well, she will. She broke up with me... but it's not that. It wouldn't have been for good anyway, I still feel her longing glances on me in the classroom. Maybe I feel them more than she does. We're made for each other. But love isn't everything. I wrote that in my farewell letter, too.

There's more to life than even love. That's not the reason I'm doing this, hell no. Maybe it played a part, but if so a very small one.

No, the reason is... I'm not sure how to put it into words. I just feel empty. I've lived my life – 17 years – to end up like this. It sounds unsatisfying... well, it is. But I wouldn't do this without a good reason. Not something of this importance, not something that changes practically everything. I'm just sick of life. I'm not made for it. I've had my good times. I've had my bad times. I've had my love, my friends, my fun, my sex, my epic football moments, my childhood. I've not nearly come through my teenage years. I've not reached adulthood. But that's a small price for the boring years that would've followed. Life's always the same. There are only two different ways through life. The happy one and the sad one. I've been on the happy one all my life and the only way it could possibly change is to the sad way. And considering option one – living a boring life or a sad life – against option two, – dying – option two wins in my opinion.

And that's what always pissed me off about those goth kids. They only live 'to make the life more miserable for the conformists'. That's just stupid. Living only to make other lives miserable? Just stupid.

Suddenly I hear something from behind. My train? No, I'm afraid. Still I don't bother turning around. I just continue to walk as the noise behind me gets louder and identifiable as footsteps. Yet I still don't bother turning around, I'm trapped in my world. The world that is going to end soon.

And another step, another step, a third step and stop. The person behind me hugs me from behind. I look down at the hands that have led the arms around my chest.

It's Kyle.

He's crying, his hold on me getting tighter and tighter, "Why Stan?"

I just stand in silence, not moving at all, guilt washing over my consciousness.

"Why?!" he cries out louder and yanks me off the rail tracks. We thump down hard on the ground next to the tracks and he rolls me over to sit on top of me. We look at each other. I can see his tear-stained eyes from which tears are dripping on my face.

"Why?" he whispers, barely audible, still I'm sure he's certain, I heard it. I don't answer though.

"You're such an idiot, Stan!" Kyle cries out again. Then it happens. Kyle lowers his head down to mine and kisses me softly. I don't kiss back. This is too much for me. I just lie here and take whatever comes.

And then I hear the rail tracks next to us shaking. It's almost funny that trains can be heard even though they are still miles away.

At train stations it eases the impatience of children and business people. And here it gives me the signal to push the boy that's kissing me off of me, get up and run towards the approaching train.

Only thing not working here is my suicidal mind. I don't get up. No, I listen to the train come nearer and nearer and let the kiss grow deeper and deeper until the importance of the train equals zero and the importance of Kyle equals infinity as I finally return the kiss cautiously.

A few minutes pass and the train approaches. It rushes past us, but the wet kiss me and Kyle are sharing drowns out the train's loud noise, the problems it's making worse, the one or two ruined romantic moments. It's drowning out all misery and even all happiness.

The apparent feeling is different. It cannot be described by mere words. It has to be felt and lived through to understand.

Minutes pass and after what seemed like ages, we finally part. Kyle stopped crying. He smiles and says, "I love you."

I didn't hear him. I don't know why. I was just trying to get two words out of my own mouth, which was hard enough.

"I'm sorry."

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**Thank you for reading. I really hope you liked it, it would mean a lot to me, considering this is my first piece of fanfiction that has a meaning and a serious background.**

**You already know, that it was written because of something that happened last Tuesday. I'm pretty sure that you can tell now what kind of thing it is about. Well, I am a German football (soccer) fan and this event hit most of Germany pretty hard: The death of Robert Enke. Robert Enke was the goalkeeper of Germany's national soccer team and he killed himself after suffering depression since 2003 and the death of his 2-year-old daughter in 2006. He killed himself by intentionally walking on rail tracks, like Stan tried in this fic. (And this is the only similarity between this fic and the reality.)**

**This fic is not supposed to reconstruate his death. In no way. It's just a reminder and most importantly it's a South Park fanfiction with a completely different plot and sadly a completely different ending, very loosely based on the real event.**

**R.I.P. Robert Enke - * August 24, 1977 in Jena, East Germany; † November 10, 2009 in Neustadt am Rübenberge, Germany - A great person and a loving father and husband - Goalkeeper of Hannover 96 and the German national soccer team; former goalkeeper of Jenapharm Jena, Carl-Zeiss Jena, Borussia Mönchengladbach, FC Barcelona, Fenerbahçe Istanbul and CD Tenerife**

**Wir werden dich nie vergessen.  
**


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